


The Knife

by babel



Series: Props [1]
Category: Marble Hornets
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-10-13
Updated: 2012-10-13
Packaged: 2017-11-16 04:50:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/535682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babel/pseuds/babel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alex and Tim on a late night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Knife

"I have a really good memory. I mean _really_ good," Alex is saying far too seriously for two in the morning. He's leaned in over his empty glass and he's looking straight at Tim, because everyone else who'd come with them wandered off more than an hour ago. "It's a gift and a curse. Like Spiderman." Alex grins then, although he still seems too serious.

Tim fakes a laugh back, but he's more focused on a lemon rind that he's been twisting between his fingers for about an hour and thinking about excusing himself to smoke in the street and maybe just leaving. They aren't really friends. Tim's only here because Brian said Alex would sulk if anyone from the cast didn't show up, and because he's the one who's supposed to be filming the behind-the-scenes stuff. For the last few hours, all he's been doing is listening to Alex talk and changing the tape every hour or so. Alex insists that they keep filming even though the camera is just sitting on the table and nothing is going on. 

Tim isn't sure why he didn't leave when the others left.

Alex is sitting back a little now, twisting the glass back and forth on the table, and when he talks it's like he's talking to himself. "When I was a kid, I had to go to a counselor for a while because they thought I was a pathological liar. Because I remembered things no one else did. Maybe if I were just a more credible person, it'd just be a gift, right?"

"It's late," Tim says. He twists the lemon rind too hard and it tears. he frowns at it, then he says again, "It's late."

"I don't want to go home yet."

Tim tries to press the pieces of rind back together, inexplicably upset that he's ruined it. He realizes, also, why he's stayed here so long tonight even though he didn't want to be here in the first place. "Me neither."

"I mean, I don't want to go home _alone_."

Tim just looks at him for a long moment. Alex isn't looking at him. He's still staring down at his glass as he twists it back and forth, disturbing the little circle of condensation that formed beneath it.

"Are you saying you want me to come with you?"

Alex shrugs. "Yeah, why not?"

"Okay." Tim tosses the rind aside, and half of it falls off the table, onto the floor.

* * *

It's almost four in the morning, and Alex is curled up on his sofa and Tim is sitting on the floor next to it, playing with the prop knife Alex had on his coffee table where the camera is sitting now. Each time he presses the blade in and out of the handle, the springs inside creak. There's an old movie on the TV.

"Why didn't you drink tonight?" Alex asks suddenly.

Tim doesn't answer for a moment, because he'd thought Alex was asleep, and he has to wait for his pulse to slow back down to a steady rate. "What do you mean?"

"Everybody else had at least one drink."

"Oh." Tim pushes the blade into the handle. _Creak_. "I think you had enough for both of us."

Alex snorts. "Probably." _Creak._ "But seriously, why?"

"Can't drink with my medication." _Creak._

"What medication?"

_Creak._ "That's kind of personal."

"It's four in the morning."

Tim turns to look at Alex. He has his arms folded under his head, and he's looking at Tim so intently that it unsettles him. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"Things get personal at four in the morning. Those are the rules."

"Yeah, well." He presses the prop knife against Alex's arm. _Creak._ "I don't do personal with a guy who thinks remembering things is a curse, sorry."

Alex furrows his brow slightly, and Tim can see in his eyes that he's just more curious now. "I'll tell you something personal about me."

"I'd rather you didn't."

"Too bad." Alex watches Tim pull the knife away from him. _Creak._ The tip has left a little red indent in his skin. "I have this completely insane crush."

Tim raises his eyebrows. "Is this a slumber party now? Do you want to braid my hair, Alex? Be honest."

"I do." Alex unfolds one of his arms and lifts a strand of Tim's hair. "You'll have to grow it out a little first."

"Working on that right this minute, actually." Tim presses the knife into Alex's arm again, but Alex doesn't pull it away.

"You know I'm talking about you, right?" Alex says.

Tim blinks, then mentally goes over the conversation in his mind. "Oh."

"Yeah." Alex does pull his arm away now. The blade slides back out of the handle as he does. He pulls a pillow out from behind him and wraps his arms around it before pressing his cheek into it, closing his eyes. "It's really late."

Tim sets the knife back on the coffee table next to the camera. "Do you mind if I crash here?"

"Sure." Alex draws a deep breath, then mutters, "How about we forget I said that thing before?"

"No." Tim turns a little, and rests his head on the couch cushion next to Alex.

Alex is quiet for a little while, then he murmurs, "Did you put in a new tape?"

* * *

Tim opens his eyes. It's almost six in the morning.

"Are you asleep?" He whispers.

"Hardly ever," Alex whispers back.

Tim pulls himself up onto the couch, on top of Alex. There isn't really enough room for both of them there. There wasn't really enough room for just Alex, and now his long legs are propped up awkwardly on the arm of the couch.

"Why do you have a crush on me?" Tim asks.

Alex shrugs a little. His eyes are glazed and he's looking past Tim's right shoulder. "You're interesting. And good looking."

"What's interesting about me?"

" _This_ is kind of interesting." Alex shifts his weight underneath Tim, and it sends a thrill through Tim that he wasn't really expecting to feel from this. "You're quiet. When people talk over you, you just kind of stop talking. And all your smiles look fake."

Tim breathes a soft, flat laugh. "Those are bad things."

"I don't think so."

"You're kind of weird, Alex."

"Yeah." Alex turns his head to look at the coffee table. "Did you put in a new tape?"

"I don't really want this on film." Tim leans down, then stops just before his lips touch Alex's neck. "I don't know if I'm actually... gay or anything. I mean, I like girls."

"I like girls too, sometimes." Alex reaches for the camera, but Tim catches his hand and presses it against the couch.

Now, Alex finally looks directly at him. His eyes are very wide and dark, and his cheeks are a little flushed.

He almost looks like a different person like this. "What do you want from me?" Tim asks.

"I... What do you mean?"

"Everyone wants something," Tim says, shrugging. "You told me you have a crush on me for a reason."

Alex furrows his brow a little, and even though he doesn't look over at it, Tim can tell he's still worried about the camera. "I wanted you to know. _I'd_ want to know. If I mattered to somebody."

"Okay..." Tim can't stop thinking about that lemon rind, and how his stupid blunt fingers had torn it by accident. If it had been on purpose, it wouldn't have been as bad. Finally, he lowers himself down more heavily on Alex, resting his head on his shoulder. After a moment, Alex slips a hand around his waist. 

"Hey, Alex."

"Yeah?"

"Why do you have a prop knife?"

"I was thinking someone in the movie should die."

* * *

Tim wakes up. It's three in the afternoon.

He doesn't remember falling asleep. For a moment, he doesn't remember where he is, which is more normal for him that he'd like to admit.

Then, he recognizes the room. Alex's living room. He's slumped against the wall, and Alex is sitting on the couch, staring at his camera. There's a constant, annoying creaking coming from somewhere, and outside there's a light rain falling.

"How did I get over here?" Tim's neck is sore, and he rubs it gingerly.

Alex doesn't seem to hear him at first, but then he says, "I have a really good memory."

"You mentioned that."

"Not lately." Alex looks over to him, and his eyes are wide and dark like they were last night, although now they're slightly obscured by his glasses. "Lately, I just have tapes."

Tim pushes himself up to his feet, then leans heavily against the wall. He's pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to fight off a killer headache. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"It's recording. It's been recording for hours."

"Yeah...?"

"I don't remember putting the tape in."

Tim's stomach is twisting itself in knots. He didn't even drink with the rest of them last night. "I feel sick. I'm going home." 

He starts to head for the door, but Alex says, "Tim?"

"What?"

"Do you remember what we talked about last night?"

Tim draws a deep breath and starts to reach for the cigarette pack in his shirt pocket. "Let's just forget about that, okay?"

Alex laughs hollowly, and Tim doesn't stay long enough for him to say anything else.


End file.
